Courting Trouble
by Wilusa
Summary: My take on the fate of Tommy Dolan. Why would California's most notorious defendant choose a trial, and near-certain death sentence, over a plea bargain that would spare his life?
1. Prologue

DISCLAIMER: Carnivale and its canon characters are the property of HBO and the show's producers; no copyright infringement is intended.

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The headline screamed _**Does Dolan Have a Death Wish?**_

Nathan Stern reread the article, and was just as bemused as when he'd clipped it from the paper six weeks ago.

Tommy Dolan, formerly a star reporter for Los Angeles radio station KZAK, stood accused of having set a late-night arson fire that destroyed a newly opened orphanage in the town of Mintern, claiming the lives of six children and the woman caring for them. It was hard to imagine a more appalling crime.

The alleged motive made it even worse.

The orphanage had been affiliated with the "Dignity Ministry" founded by Rev. Justin Crowe - a preacher whose attempts to aid migrant farm workers had met with opposition from his Methodist congregation, local politicians, and the church hierarchy. Initially, it had been assumed the fire had been set by bigots. The publicity given this "outrage" by the first newsman to take note of it - Tommy Dolan_ - _led to an outpouring of sympathy for "Brother Justin," catapulting him to fame.

Dolan had also received a huge career boost. But now it was claimed he'd set the fire, for the sole purpose of exploiting it to advance his career. At one point, he'd confessed.

Tommy Dolan was the most hated man in California, if not the nation.

Recently, the State had offered a plea deal. They wanted to avoid the cost of a trial and probable appeals, and the additional cost of security to prevent Dolan's being assassinated. Perhaps they feared they wouldn't be able to prevent it, at any cost. It was taken for granted that a trial would result in conviction, and he'd be sentenced to hang. But if he was gunned down in or outside the courthouse, the State would be reviled for incompetence, even accused of having deliberately let it happen.

So they'd offered to spare Dolan's life in exchange for a guilty plea. He would, of course, receive a life sentence, with no possibility of parole. But he'd be alive - and guaranteed, if he wanted it, a degree of isolation that would protect him from murderous fellow prisoners. The public would be furious at his not being executed, but the hubbub would die down and eventually be forgotten.

The shocker? Dolan had refused the deal! Spurning the advice of his public defender, he'd insisted on a trial, and declared that he meant to plead not guilty.

Did he think he could somehow explain away a signed confession? The entire document was said to be in his handwriting...

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"Nate?" His secretary opened the door and poked her head in; he'd evidently been so absorbed in thoughts of Dolan that he hadn't heard her knock. "Mr. Ellison is here."

He looked up with a smile. "Thank you, Sally." He knew the pert redhead was bursting with curiosity about why he was seeing Walter Ellison. Slipping the newspaper article into a drawer, he told her, "Send him in."

Ellison was a big man, gray-haired but tough-looking, with an air of authority. After admitting him, Sally "forgot" to close the door; Nate had to call out and remind her. Her devilish grin said _Can't blame a girl for trying_.

He rose politely, and reached across his desk to shake hands with the older man. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Ellison."

"Likewise, Mr. Stern. Thank you for seeing me."

But was there a hint of reluctance in the handshake?

When they were settled in their chairs, Ellison said abruptly, "I assume you know who I am. So you may be able to guess why I'm here."

"Hmm." Nate pretended to ponder the question. "You want to hire a lawyer because you think Kay-Zack may be libeled in the course of the Dolan trial?" He cocked his head, then said smoothly, "But no, that wouldn't require a criminal defense attorney."

"No, it wouldn't."

"So...do I understand correctly? You're prepared to bankroll Dolan's defense?"

The owner of KZAK nodded. "But I don't want the press to get wind of who's footing the bill. Unless, of course, he's acquitted."

"That's understandable." Then Nate looked Ellison in the eye and said coolly, "I'm not the first lawyer you've approached." That was a guess; but the only alternative was that Ellison had only _very_ recently decided to help his erstwhile employee. _And my string of acquittals should have put me at the top of the list_.

Ellison flushed. "Right. Some wouldn't even see me. Others wouldn't take the case, either because they've bought into the idea that Tommy's a monster, or because they'd be afraid for their own safety if they got involved.

"I thought of you right away, of course! Great record. But I was, ah, hoping to hire someone older. Longer-established in the community, you know?"

"Sure, I know." _Or at least, I suspect...you wanted someone who wasn't a Jew_.

Nate knew he, and other Jews, might be overly sensitive these days. But there'd been so much stereotyping, so many veiled "digs," in the press and in public figures' speeches...

Researching the Dolan matter, he'd caught several broadcast sermons delivered by the now-celebrated Justin Crowe. Brother Justin had reviled "bankers" - along with immigrants, intellectuals, filmmakers, and other handy scapegoats. Every time he said "bankers," Nate had heard _Jews_.

_But what I care about now isn't Ellison's opinion of Jews, it's his opinion of Dolan_.

He sat back, folded his arms, and said, "I'm curious. I believe every defendant is entitled to counsel, to the best case that can be made for him. But Dolan's notorious. Everyone believes he's guilty.

"And thus far, none of the ill will has rubbed off on Kay-Zack. So why aren't you leaving him to the public defenders? Why pay for a first-class defense?"

Ellison almost erupted out of his seat. "Because 'everyone' _doesn't_ believe he's guilty! I sure as hell don't."

_Okay, __**this**__ is interesting_.

"Tell me why you think he's innocent," he urged. "Try to convince me."

Ellison took a moment to compose himself, then said simply, "Look, I've known the guy for years. He's ambitious, yes - to a fault, maybe. He might do something slightly shady to 'advance his career.' But _murder children?_ No way.

"He's assured me he didn't do it, and I believe him.

"As for his career, it was going great guns before the fire. He was an innovator, pioneering a new form with his reports from 'on the road.' All that publicity helped, sure. But he hadn't been on the skids, faced with a need to do something drastic.

"And the only evidence against him is the damned confession. Without that, he never would have been a suspect."

Nate pounced on that issue."Why did he make the confession? Did he give you any reasonable explanation?"

Ellison gave a reluctant shake of the head. "Nope. He hemmed and hawed, didn't seem able to explain it."

Thinking aloud, Nate speculated, "So maybe he was drunk? Drugged? Or even hypnotized? 'Drunk' doesn't really cut it, because the writing's said to be neat..."

His expressing that much interest seemingly encouraged Ellison. Sitting up straighter, the station owner blurted out, "So can I hire you to defend him? I'll...I'll double your usual fee, whatever it is!"

The first thought that passed through Nate's mind was _If Dolan can actually be acquitted, and Ellison can then reveal he was in his corner all along, Kay-Zack will be a big winner. If only through attracting more advertising_.

The second thought was _Why not keep still about what I originally had in mind, and take him up on his offer? Double my usual fee.._.

But then he thought of the stereotype. _Money-grubbing Jews._

He decided, instead, to throw Ellison for a loop. He said quietly, "No, Mr. Ellison. I won't take your money to defend Tommy Dolan."

Ellison's face fell. "Oh." He pushed his chair back, starting to get up.

"Wait a minute." Nate was enjoying this. "The truth is, I only agreed to see you today because I was interested in hearing your opinion of him.

"But I've been intrigued by this case for weeks. And before you called, I'd already made up my mind to offer my services, pro bono.

"So that's what I'm going to do. If, of course, Mr. Dolan will have me!"

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A stunned Ellison fell back into his chair. And the next half-hour was spent in friendly argument, as he tried to persuade Nate to accept at least his usual fee. They finally agreed on a compromise: Nate would provide all legal services free of charge, but Ellison would pay for the security he'd need while representing such a hated defendant.

As Ellison was leaving, he turned to say, "One more thing, Nate." They were "Walt" and "Nate" now. With a slightly shamefaced grin, he admitted, "You'll have to take my word for this, but it's the truth. Weeks back, when I told Tommy I'd try to find him a lawyer, yours was the first name he suggested."

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Nate had, of course, seen newspaper photos and even newsreel footage of Tommy Dolan. He knew the man was slim, dark-haired, fortyish. But on meeting his jailed client for the first time, he was struck by something the photographs hadn't captured: the keen intelligence in the man's face and eyes.

_Not necessarily a good thing. The brighter he looks, the harder it will be to convince a jury he was somehow duped into writing and signing a false confession_.

He kept that concern to himself. In an attempt at good cheer, he said, "I've heard you on the radio, Mr. Dolan. I hoped I'd meet you someday. But I wish it had been under different circumstances."

Dolan grimaced. Then he said, "I've heard _**of**_ _you_, Mr. Stern. I know you're top-notch. I was bowled over when I learned you were taking my case - and wouldn't even accept Walt's money. However this turns out, thank you."

"You're welcome." Nate's smile was genuine. "But I want to be clear about this. Walt is convinced you're innocent. I'm not - at least at this point.

"But I want you to understand that as far as your defense is concerned, it doesn't matter. Innocent or guilty, you're entitled to the best defense I can provide, within the law. And you'll get it."

Dolan pondered that for a minute. Then he met Nate's eyes, and said quietly, " 'Innocent'? I've never claimed to be 'innocent.' "

"But you told Walt -"

Dolan held up a hand to stop him. "If I was completely 'innocent,' I wouldn't be in this mess. I promise I'll explain what I mean by that when the trial's over - one way or the other. Assuming I haven't been murdered.

"But while I'm not 'innocent,' I didn't set that fire, didn't kill anyone. I swear I'd never heard of Brother Justin and his problems till I met him on the road, after the fire, when I was chatting up hoboes to get stories for my radio show."

Nate said slowly, "I believe you." And meant it.

Then he felt he had to say, "You mentioned the possibility of murder. It's very real - more real, maybe, than you've been thinking. And there's an even greater chance you'll be convicted and hanged.

"Even though you didn't commit the crime you're charged with...are you sure you want to take those risks, rather than accept the plea bargain?"

"Absolutely sure." There was a wicked glint in Dolan's eyes now. "There are facts I want to see brought out during the trial.

"I have a suggestion, an approach you may want to take..."

When Nate left the jail an hour later, he was whistling.


	2. The Prosecution

Nate's office was a shambles.

File folders and mail - much of it unopened - were stacked everywhere, even on the chairs. If the phone rang, he'd have to dig through a pile of papers to get to it.

And that was after he'd loaded the crucial files into his car.

_Thank God this is almost over. A few days spent in Sacramento, where I won't have to look at this mess...and then, win or lose, I can start getting my life back to normal._

_Maybe_.

The Dolan case had dragged on and on, as it was determined, first, that an impartial jury couldn't be impaneled in Mintern, and then, that L.A. was no better. Finally, a decision had been made to move the trial to Sacramento. With an L.A. lawyer of Nate's stature representing Dolan, San Bernardino County had requested an L.A. prosecutor. So the prosecution team would be headed by the esteemed Brandon Robinson, who had in fact relocated from New York to L.A. so recently that Nate had never faced him in court.

He took a last look around, then walked out to the outer office - which was so neat, so squeaky-clean, that he felt he'd stepped into a different universe. But it was he who'd determinedly kept it this way, ever since Sally left. There'd be no mess for her to clean up when she returned.

If she returned.

After he'd agreed to represent the infamous Tommy Dolan, his research assistants had left him. He'd also been spurned by the p.i. he'd sometimes used for investigative work. Only Sally had stuck with him, taking on tasks that went far beyond a secretary's normal duties. Apparently, she found the case as intriguing as he did.

But when the death threats began, he'd forced her to leave. However much Ellison might have been willing to pay for bodyguards, he knew she'd be safer if she was nowhere near him. He'd kept her on salary the whole time, and urged her to take a little trip, enjoy her vacation.

_I never would have guessed how much I'd miss her if she wasn't here.._.

There certainly hadn't been much work, aside from the Dolan case itself and the associated hate mail. His connection with Dolan had probably cost him dozens of clients. He was hurting financially...and trying to conceal it.

But for some reason, none of that distressed him as much as did the absence of Sally.

He took an unopened piece of mail out of his pocket, turned it over and over in his hand. A letter from her, received yesterday - at his home address, of course. Postmarked in L.A., so she still hadn't taken that trip he'd urged to Mexico.

_Why am I afraid to open and read the damn thing? She's probably just wishing me luck in the trial._

_But what if she's telling me she's found another job, won't be coming back?_

_What if she's telling me she's gotten engaged?_

He hadn't realized, till he received the letter, how much he'd care about Sally's being engaged.

_She may have had a beau for a long time, for all I know. Why was I always so wrapped up in my work? Why didn't I ever ask to see her outside of the office?_

_Come on, open it! Get it over with_.

He ripped open the envelope. And read, in a neat, oh-so-familiar hand:

_Dear Nate,_

_I have news. I've finally decided to take a little trip, like you said I should. But not to Mexico. I'm going to Sacramento!_

_I mean to be there for the whole trial. I hope I'll be able to get in the courtroom sometimes. But if not, I'll be in the crowd that's sure to be gathered outside. Look for my red hair!_

_I'd wish you luck, but I don't think you need it. Tommy Dolan will have truth on his side, __and__ the best lawyer in the country._

_Hoping I'll be able to come back to L.A. with you and help clean up the clutter in your office -_

_Sally_

Nate was grinning from ear to ear. _She even knows me well enough to be sure I'm leaving clutter in my office!_

He locked the suite, and set out on the toughest mission of his life, in a very good mood.

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It was hard to sustain that mood through the dragged-out preliminaries to the trial - "preliminaries" which, in this case, included bomb threats and arrests of self-declared would-be assassins. It didn't help that Nate knew the really dangerous ones would be keeping their mouths shut.

But at last, everyone who should be in the courtroom was safely there (including Sally, seated far from the principals), and Brandon Robinson was starting to present the prosecution case.

Robinson was a trim middle-aged man, a good speaker, who radiated confidence. His strategy was clear. Early witnesses would testify about the fire itself, moving the jurors by dwelling on the cruelty, the sheer horror of it. Then Robinson would introduce into evidence the all-important confession. Handwriting experts would testify to its matching other specimens of Tommy Dolan's writing. The last witnesses would be Justin Crowe and his sister Iris, who'd testify that they'd seen him write and sign it.

There was very little in the early testimony to which Nate could object. And it wouldn't have been helpful for any defendant. Jurors heard at length about the six murdered children: Polly Ann Bonham, Hannah Briggs, Goody Williams, Arliss Pratt, Ezekiel Christie, and Bobby Keeland. Adult caregiver Fay McGarvey was profiled as well, described as something approaching a saint. The jury saw photos of all of them - in life, and in graphic, horrifying death. Some jurors appeared ill; all of them directed bitter, accusatory looks toward the defense table.

At that point, the court recessed for the day - leaving those nightmare-inducing images as the last memories jurors would take with them.

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On the second day of the trial, Police and Fire Department witnesses presented evidence that the fire had been deliberately set.

The long, detailed confession was read into evidence. Chief of Police Edwin Hilliard told the jury that Tommy Dolan had begun reading it aloud to a large assemblage, with police present, in a tent constructed for Brother Justin's revival meetings. But he'd apparently panicked midway through it, and made a frantic attempt to escape.

On cross, Nate asked Hilliard, "What exactly did the defendant say at that time? Did he deny having set the fire?"

Looking uncomfortable, Hilliard said, "Um, yes. He was screaming that he didn't do it."

"Did he accuse anyone else?"

Hilliard's response was so mumbled that the judge had to ask him to repeat. But at last he said clearly, "Iris Crowe."

That sent a murmur through the courtroom. But then, Nate had to choose between letting a half-dozen handwriting experts testify, or going on record as willing to accept that the writing was Dolan's. His case didn't rely on challenging the writing; but he didn't want to divulge that at this early stage. So he let all the experts troop onto the stand - knowing that by the time their mind-numbing testimony was complete, the jury would have forgotten about Iris.

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The third day brought the witness everyone had been waiting for: Justin Crowe.

Crowe was by now a national, even international, figure. On the day he was scheduled to testify, the crowd outside the courthouse swelled to five times its previous size. Traffic was disrupted throughout the city. Crowe had his critics, but they seemed to be far outnumbered by rapturous admirers.

Nate was getting his first in-person look at the man Dolan had told him so much about. "Brother Justin" was clad in black, and wore a clerical collar. In his early forties, he was tall and distinguished, with wavy, graying hair. Nate had heard that he had compelling blue eyes, but wasn't close enough to judge their color for himself.

Crowe was accompanied by a severe-looking woman, probably a few years his senior - undoubtedly his sister Iris. To the regret of sensation-seekers, he wasn't accompanied by his new wife, said to be a pious disciple in her early twenties. When reporters had asked him about his plans in recent days, he'd said his wife had nothing to do with this - they hadn't met till after Dolan's arrest, and she'd been living in another part of the country at the time of the fire.

Dolan had told Nate that as far as he knew, that was the truth.

Nate noticed that Crowe moved slowly, was pale, and looked unwell. His health had been a matter of speculation for months, ever since a bizarre occurrence at his "New Canaan" community, where he presided over an estimated 17,000 followers. A carnival had been entertaining some of the residents, and Brother Justin and Iris had gone up on the Ferris wheel. The motion of the wheel had caused him to have an epileptic seizure - and a malicious carny operating the wheel had, at first, refused to stop it. Iris's shrieks had given nearby New Canaanites the impression there'd been an attempt on Justin's life. A full-scale riot had broken out, and several people had been killed.

Since then, while Crowe's "Church of the Air" seemed to be on constantly, either live or in rebroadcasts, he'd cut back on personal appearances. But he hadn't attempted to avoid testifying in person at this trial.

He took the stand, was sworn in, and in response to Robinson's questions, said that his name was Justin Crowe and he lived at 1 Hilltop Road, New Canaan.

Tommy Dolan wrote a note and discreetly handed it to Nate.

It read: _Another typical address in N.C. might be 1000 Hillbottom Gulch_.

Nate managed to keep a straight face.

He'd checked out New Canaan, and knew that while "Gulch" wasn't completely fair, it was a fact that the 17,000 lived in a jumble of tents and shanties, Crowe in a rambling farmhouse that was, by contrast, luxurious. He probably had the only true mailing address.

Robinson asked a "casual" question about Crowe's qualifications as a minister. That gave him a chance to tell the jury he'd been raised by a Methodist minister, and had later graduated from a Methodist theological seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota. After revealing that impressive background, he went on to explain that he'd broken with the Methodist Church, very reluctantly, because the elders in positions of authority had settled into comfortable lives, and couldn't empathize with the poor and dispossessed.

The jury appeared to be lapping it up.

Then Robinson got to the nitty-gritty: the matter of the fire, and Crowe's first contact with Dolan. This was going to be troublesome. Nate had a fairly good idea of how Robinson and his well-coached witness would handle it; but he was on the edge of his chair, not wanting to miss a word.

The whole country knew how Dolan and Crowe had supposedly met - a history Nate knew to be true. Crowe had suffered some sort of breakdown after the fire, gone missing, and taken to the road as a hobo. Dolan, posing as a hobo himself, had been talking to other hoboes and getting interesting stories when he could, for a radio program called "True Tales From On the Road." After an intoxicated Crowe told _his_ tale, Dolan had recognized the story potential of this apparent strike by local bigots against a noble minister and his migrant flock. While an oblivious Crowe was still lost and wandering, Dolan had made his name a household word.

That didn't jibe with the idea of Dolan's having known about the fire all along - because _he_ had set it. He wouldn't have needed to encounter Crowe "on the road," and his accidentally doing so would have been a well-nigh incredible coincidence. If the men did meet accidentally, it was five days after the fire; an arsonist-Dolan with no clue to Crowe's whereabouts might have been expected to fake "learning about it," and begin discussing it on the air, before then. Every day's delay would have increased the risk that some other high-profile reporter would publicize the story before he did.

Crowe couldn't deny that the unlikely meeting had taken place; he'd let the story stand, as fact, for a year and a half. And two hoboes had come forward, to boast about having been there and heard it all.

Robinson asked about it. Crowe, with a show of great earnestness, replied, "I've given that a lot of thought. I think now that it must have been a set-up. Tommy or a confederate had been following me, because getting my story that way would be more dramatic than just claiming he'd read it somewhere."

_As I expected_, Nate reflected. _Really, that was the only thing he __**could**__ say_.

Robinson went on, leading Crowe into a discussion of how Dolan had become one of his closest confidants. He claimed that when the police seemed unable to solve the mystery of the fire, he'd been unable to let it rest, and had asked Dolan to conduct his own investigation. Dolan had pretended to do so. But when he was forced to spend so much time talking with Crowe about the fire, his conscience had plagued him, and he'd finally broken down and confessed. Crowe and his sister Iris had witnessed his putting the confession in writing. Then, after agreeing to read it in public, Dolan had - shamefully - turned coward, panicked, and tried to deny it.

Nate had to admire Crowe's performance. He was playing the role of a man who'd been betrayed by a trusted friend, and was deeply hurt. He played the part to perfection, never yielding to the temptation to overact.

The members of the defense team were probably the only people in the courtroom not sympathizing and commiserating with him.

On cross, Nate ignored the matter of the confession, and zeroed in on Crowe's explanation of the two men's meeting on the road.

"Brother Justin," he began, "let me read back a portion of your testimony. You were asked about that famous meeting on the road, and you said, 'I think now that it must have been a set-up. Tommy or a confederate had been following me, because getting my story that way would be more dramatic than just claiming he'd read it somewhere.' Is that correct?"

"Yes," Crowe said cautiously, "that sounds like what I said."

"Let's assume for the moment that the defendant really did drive from L.A. to Mintern and set the fire. Is there anything in your background that would have led him to _expect_ that you'd respond to it by walking away from your life? Anything that would have given him the idea he should stay in Mintern, to keep tabs on you and, if necessary, follow you?"

Crowe groped for an answer, but couldn't come up with anything better than "Maybe he was just being cautious. Considering all possibilities."

"What if I were to tell you that the defendant's expense-account records prove that during part of the time he would have had to be 'following you,' he was in another part of the state?" The records actually did prove that.

"I said it might have been a confederate following me."

"Think about that, Brother Justin. If Tommy Dolan had decided to commit the heinous crime of burning that orphanage, he would have been taking an enormous risk. Is it likely he would have taken the further risk of approaching _anyone_, telling him what he meant to do, and trying to enlist him as a confederate?"

Crowe didn't attempt an answer. The set of his jaw and the steely glint in his eyes (which were indeed blue) proved that he knew Nate was really talking to the jury.

"But let's assume," Nate went on, "that the defendant - being the arsonist - did have some way of locating you after you'd left Mintern. Why would he have decided on that way of – supposedly - learning about the fire? Dramatic, yes - if it worked. _But there was no guarantee you'd tell him your story. _You might have clammed up and said nothing, no matter how he prodded you.

"If that had happened, he would have had to fake some other way of 'learning about it' - and run the risk of your later recognizing him. His pose as a hobo was part of his job. But you might have found that crossing of paths, and his soon afterward becoming the first broadcaster to feature the fire story, a hard-to-believe coincidence.

"In fact, the _only_ way the meeting on the road makes sense - as a planned occurrence, with the defendant being the arsonist - is if you and he were in collusion all along. Staging a scene for hobo witnesses."

Robinson's outraged "Objection!" was drowned out by the witness's equally outraged "I _was not_ in collusion with him!"

"No, Brother Justin," Nate said mildly, "I don't believe you were. But the alternative is that the defendant met you by chance, and only then learned about the fire. He was no more responsible for setting it than you were."

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Nate was sure he'd scored points with his cross-examination of Brother Justin. His plan for Iris was more subtle.

She took the stand, was sworn in, and identified herself as Iris Crowe, of 1 Hilltop Road, New Canaan. Her testimony consisted of nothing more than corroboration of her brother's statement that the two of them had witnessed Dolan's writing and signing the confession.

On cross, Nate observed, "Miss Crowe...I see that you have the same address as your brother."

"Yes."

"It's well-known that he was married recently. But you still live in the same household?"

"Yes." She seemed puzzled by his interest, but went on to say, "My brother and I have been very close, all our lives."

Nate gave a thoughtful nod. "Then I suppose that explains it...I had thought it strange that you, and not some other aide, joined Brother Justin in witnessing the confession."

Still looking perplexed, but with a touch of pride, she said, "I actually am his closest aide. I always have been."

Nate smiled. "It's wonderful to see such a close relationship between brother and sister. No further questions."


	3. The Defense

Nate's opening statement had laid out his plan. _Sort of_, he thought as he recalled it, checking his list of witnesses. _Well enough that I can't be accused of dishonesty._ Only Tommy Dolan, Walt Ellison, and Sally knew how all the pieces fit together.

"For the defendant to have had a motive for setting the fire," he'd told the jury, "he must already have known about Brother Justin's conflict with members of his congregation, and others, over his caring for the migrant workers. That was the point: the fire would make a great story because bigots would be assumed to have targeted a minister performing good works.

"The defense will show that it's extremely unlikely the defendant could have learned about that situation in Mintern before the date of the fire.

"Furthermore, we'll show that the defendant's 'confession' is the _only_ evidence against him. Without it, he never would have been a suspect. There is other evidence in the case, and we intend to show that it points to a different culprit.

"Then we'll explain the 'confession.' We believe that when we've presented our case, the jury will find the defendant more credible than the key prosecution witnesses."

_"More credible" than Brother Justin?_ he thought now, with a faint smile. _Well, I've already made a start, in cross.._.

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But for now, he had to focus on the first - very important - goal: convincing jurors it was unlikely Dolan could have learned about Crowe's problems before the fire.

For that purpose, he'd lined up dozens of witnesses.

One after another, newsmen paraded to the stand - to testify that their various papers and radio stations hadn't mentioned the situation. It eventually became clear that while many residents of Mintern had learned about it through word of mouth, it hadn't been considered "news," and there was no news outlet through which an outsider might have picked it up.

Next came another bevy of witnesses, acquaintances of Tommy Dolan - among them, Walt Ellison. Based on how they knew him, they made different points.

According to these acquaintances, Dolan had never mentioned having an interest in Mintern, or knowing anyone there. No one could prove he hadn't been in Mintern at the time of the fire, but his expense-account use elsewhere showed that if he had been there, it must have been a quick trip. He certainly hadn't spent any significant amount of time there, to familiarize himself with the situation. After the fire occurred (and received some minimal news coverage), he hadn't mentioned it to anyone till after his encounter with Crowe "on the road"; then he'd seemed genuinely excited. And as Nate had suggested in his cross-examination of Crowe, Dolan's expense-account use proved he hadn't been following Crowe throughout the distraught preacher's wanderings. They'd been in different parts of the state.

Witnesses also managed to make the point that Dolan's career had been going extremely well. It hadn't needed a boost that would require his taking a dangerous risk.

There was a consensus on one thing: Dolan was no saint, but his acquaintances couldn't see him as a killer.

It was conceivable that a citizen of Mintern, having heard Dolan on the radio, might have written to him about Brother Justin's problems. But Nate pointed out that if that had happened, the letter writer probably would have come forward, to express outrage at how Dolan had "responded." Also, he probably would have mentioned the letter to other people; if he himself never told the authorities, someone else would have.

After a day of this, the jury might have been exhausted, but Nate was sure he'd made them think.

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On the following day, he began by reminding the jury of part of Chief Hilliard's testimony. Hilliard had said that when Dolan was being arrested, he had not only insisted he hadn't committed the crime, but had accused someone else: Iris Crowe. The suddenly thoughtful expressions on several jurors' faces told Nate they had indeed forgotten.

Now he called a new police witness: Gregg Wales, who'd been Chief when the fire took place, but had retired prior to Dolan's arrest. He began by asking Wales, "Was Tommy Dolan ever considered a suspect while you were handling the case?"

"No, sir."

"Were there any actual leads?"

Wales looked uncomfortable, but said, "Yes, sir. Just one. A witness across the road saw a car pulling away, so close to the time the fire was spotted that it looked suspicious."

"And did police learn anything about that car?"

"Uh, yes, sir. Assuming the witness was right about its being a black Model A Ford sedan...well, there were only twenty-nine in the county, four of them in Mintern."

"Was any of those cars owned by someone known to be connected with this case?"

Wales gulped. Hesitated, and looked around, as if seeking help. But at last he said, "Yes, sir. One of them was registered to Justin Crowe."

That caused such a stir in the courtroom that the judge had to rap for order.

x

x

x

Nate's next witness was a scrawny, dark-haired young woman named Jessie Bright.

"Miss Bright," Nate began, "were you the witness who saw the car Chief Wales referred to?"

"Yes, sir, I was." She said it defiantly, as if she expected Brother Justin's loyalists to attack her on the spot.

"Did you get a look at the driver?"

She nodded. "Just a glimpse. I could make out a shadowy person, that's all. Not enough to recognize anyone."

"Since you live in Mintern, I assume you have, on some occasions, seen Brother Justin?"

She blinked. "Yes, sir."

"Could he have been the driver?"

"Oh! Now I see what you mean. No, it couldn't have been him. It was a smaller person. Well, small or slumped...but I think maybe it was a woman."

Another stir in the court.

"Miss Bright, did the police ask you anything about the driver?"

"No, just the car. I reckon they figured it was so dark I couldn't have seen anything more."

"Did _anyone_, before me, ask you anything about the driver?"

"Yes. Months later, a man came in the restaurant where I work, and started asking me questions. I told him what I told you - well, he asked if the small person could have been a woman, and that made me think about it and realize it could have been."

"Do you see that man in the courtroom, Miss Bright?"

"Yes, sir." She pointed confidently toward the defense table. "It was him. Tommy Dolan."

More raps for order were required.

Nate continued, "Did the defendant identify himself to you, Miss Bright?"

"No, not by name. But he said he was some kind of reporter. He told me an unwed mother had come to him, desperate to find out whether the child she'd given up had died in the fire, and he had to tell her yes. So that was why he couldn't get it out of his mind." She sounded miffed - she'd evidently realized that was a lie.

"Miss Bright, did the defendant strike you as being genuinely interested in what you were telling him? As if he was, seriously, seeking information?"

"Oh, yes, sir!"

x

x

x

The next defense witness was a tall, gangling, bearded man who identified himself as Lester McGill. He stated that he lived in a migrant workers' camp near Sacramento, but had formerly resided in New Canaan - and before that, in a camp on the outskirts of Mintern.

"Mr. McGill," Nate asked, "are you the son of Eleanor McGill?"

"Yes, sir."

"Was your mother, at the time of the fire, active among Brother Justin's followers?"

"Yes, sir, she was."

"Can you tell the court where your mother was on the night of the fire?"

"She was helping out at the orphanage, sir, worked pretty late. She left before the fire broke out - must've got back to our camp about 11:00."

"If she were here, I suppose she'd be able to tell us whether anyone other than the victims was there when she left. Is that right, Mr. McGill?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you tell the court, Mr. McGill, why your mother _isn't_ here?"

"Because she's dead, sir. She was murdered."

This necessitated the judge's longest spate of gavel-rapping.

"Please give us some details, Mr. McGill."

"Last summer, sir, in New Canaan, Ma's body was found in the lake. It was thought at first she'd drowned - maybe an accident, Brother Justin thought it was suicide. But when the autopsy results came back, it turned out someone had killed her with blows to the head, before she ever got in the water."

"Has an arrest been made?"

"No, sir."

Over Robinson's attempts to object, Nate managed to ask, "Who was the last person known to have seen your mother alive?"

And McGill replied, "Iris Crowe."


	4. The Defendant

In some murder trials, there's an element of suspense regarding the defendant: will he or won't he testify?

Not here. It had been clear from the start that if the "confession" could possibly be explained away, Tommy Dolan would have to do it. Throughout California, speculation about his testimony left front pages and radio news broadcasts with little room for anything else.

And Nate had decided that his client's obvious intelligence was an asset, not a liability. _He was eloquent enough to convince me his version of what happened is the truth, so I have to believe he can convince a jury_.

x

x

x

He began his questioning by having Dolan explain the format of his successful radio program, "True Tales From On the Road." Then he led him through the familiar story of his first encounter with a drunken Justin Crowe. Even now, Dolan's voice throbbed with emotion as he recounted the horror story he'd heard from the lips of the despairing preacher.

"And until then," Nate asked, "you'd never heard of him or his problems?"

"No. And I'd never had occasion to set foot in Mintern. I knew nothing about the place."

"Did you consider dropping your hobo act, trying to persuade Brother Justin to go back to L.A. with you?" Nate knew that if he didn't address that question, Robinson would.

"I thought about it. But I didn't have any way, really, of walking away from the role I was playing. Colleagues were going to pick me up in a couple of days. But in the meantime, I didn't have any means of transportation, or a change of clothes, money, or any sort of ID that would prove who I was. If I suddenly started saying I wasn't a real hobo, the bunch of them would've thought I was nuts.

"And in the state of mind Justin was in, he might not have let me 'rescue' him, anyway. He might have conked me over the head with a bottle and taken off."

Nate nodded thoughtfully. "So when you returned to L.A., Brother Justin was still wandering somewhere...and you had a powerful story to tell your radio audience."

"Yes."

"Were you genuinely outraged by what you thought bigots had done to him and his flock? Or did you see it as a huge 'scoop' that would benefit _you_?"

"Both," Dolan said forthrightly. "I really was appalled by the crime - any decent man would be. But I'd never been a particularly spiritual person. So at that point, I admit I was thinking of myself, too."

"That's understandable." _And yes, the jury likes his honesty_. "You weren't 'particularly spiritual' - were you a member of any faith, Mr. Dolan?"

"Not really. My family background was Irish Catholic, but I hadn't gone to church in years. I guess I did consider myself a Christian, maybe even a Catholic. But I didn't give much thought to matters of faith.

"And then I met Iris Crowe."

x

x

x

With occasional prompting questions from Nate, Dolan went on to explain how he'd met Iris, while Justin was still missing, and been deeply moved by her devotion to her brother's cause. "That changed me, somehow. I don't think it made me, exactly, more religious. But it gave me a new appreciation of religious people. I came to respect and admire Iris, as I never had anyone else.

"For a while there, I imagined I was falling in love with her."

Nate still found it hard to believe Dolan had been romantically attracted to a dour spinster like Iris. But Dolan had told him the prosecution might claim he'd accused her of setting the fire because she'd rejected his advances. And there actually had been an "advance" on one occasion. So Dolan had suggested they mention it themselves, and hopefully defuse the issue.

_He's right, I know. Be on the safe side._

_But I don't really think the prosecution would have brought it up. They seem to be trying to make as little mention of Iris as possible. "Don't breathe her name!"_

"I'd never been the sort of guy who wanted to settle down," Dolan was explaining. "So I dated silly girls who were in no more of a hurry to get serious than I was.

"Iris was different, a mature woman, with brains and depth. I was attracted to that. And I tried to kiss her - just once. It could have been a very 'proper' kiss, if that was what she wanted! But she pushed me away, and made it clear she wasn't interested."

"How did you feel about that?" Nate asked.

"I was hurt, at first. But only for a few minutes. Then I realized she was totally committed to her faith, like a nun. Committed to her _cause - _helping her brother fulfill what she saw as his great destiny as a man of the cloth. She didn't want, wouldn't accept, any separate 'life' of her own.

"Now, I know that was unhealthy. But at the time, it made me respect her more than ever. Respect and revere her.

"And I took Justin's 'destiny' more seriously, because she did."

x

x

x

"When Brother Justin returned to Mintern," Nate observed, "he discovered he'd become famous. And donations to his cause were pouring in, faster than volunteers could handle them. I suppose he was grateful for all the publicity you'd given him?"

Dolan nodded. "Yes, of course. And Iris and I helped him realize the radio could continue being a very useful tool in his mission."

"Did you become, at some point, a paid member of his staff?"

"Yes. But only because I was working so many hours on his behalf that Kay-Zack couldn't justify keeping me on the payroll as a full-time employee. So I began drawing small salaries from both Kay-Zack and Justin's movement."

"Were you in complete sympathy with the goals of that movement?"

For the first time, Dolan hesitated.

_As planned. We both want what he's about to say to be a part of the record, but he can't seem too sure of it_.

At last Dolan said, "There were times when I was sort of disturbed by what I was hearing...

"Justin claimed to be a champion of the poor. But he only seemed to be interested in one kind of 'poor' - displaced farmers, all of them white, old-stock American Protestants.

"They were really in need, so maybe that was okay. But sometimes he struck me as being not so much interested in helping them as in making them personally loyal to him, and stirring up their resentment against other groups.

"But it troubled me to have doubts about him, when I'd been so responsible for making him a 'star.' And I thought my Catholic background might be making me oversensitive about the Protestant thing. So I kept trying to put the doubts out of my mind. Remembered how broken up he'd been, on the road, over those dead children...and how passionately Iris believed in him."

A murmur went through the courtroom.

_But murmurs are hard to interpret_.

At least Robinson hadn't objected. He just looked puzzled.

x

x

x

Nate cleared his throat, and addressed a new topic. "The court has heard Brother Justin's testimony about the fire investigation. He said the police had gotten nowhere, but he wasn't willing to let the matter drop. And so he asked you, Mr. Dolan, to conduct a new investigation. Is that how you remember it?"

Dolan shook his head decisively. "No. As I recall, we didn't see any possibility of the matter 'dropping'! We would have been perfectly content if it had.

"The problem was that information had leaked out - that bit about the 'suspicious' car, there being only four of them in Mintern, one owned by Justin. Rumors were swirling, and the situation was getting worse rather than better. It posed a threat to Justin's ministry.

"And there seemed to be a possibility that the rumors would force the police to put the case back on the front burner, try harder to find the arsonist. If that was going to happen, we wanted to learn the truth first."

"Why?" Nate asked. "Mr. Dolan, did you ever suspect Brother Justin himself?"

Another shake of the head. "No. Because he'd been so devastated by the children's deaths. Thinking about it now, I suppose that wasn't positive proof - he could have 'snapped' and set the fire, _and_ regretted the deaths later. But at the time, I thought the grief I'd seen ruled him out."

"What about Iris?"

Dolan grimaced. "After we learned about the car...I don't know what Justin was thinking, but yes, I began to suspect her then. I was hoping our investigation would prove she hadn't done it. But if she had, and was destined to be found out anyway, I thought we could make it go better for her by convincing her she should turn herself in."

Nate was grateful that Robinson wasn't making frivolous objections, such as protesting the "slander" of Iris. The prosecutor evidently wanted to listen to Dolan's version of events, even if he didn't believe a word of it.

"Tell the court about the investigation you conducted," he prompted.

"Well, I checked out the owners of the other cars - all twenty-eight in the county, not counting Justin's. There was nothing suspicious about any of them.

"I spoke to Eleanor McGill." Anything she'd said would, of course, be inadmissible: hearsay. "And Miss Bright. The court already knows what I learned from her. I'm sorry I fibbed about that unwed mother - I didn't want anyone to know I was investigating on behalf of Justin.

"But there was something else. I think that either Iris had overheard something, or she just caught on that we suspected her because she was being left out of conversations. She started acting strangely - and when she slipped away in the car one night, I followed her.

"She went to an isolated place, started a fire, and burned a lot of stuff! After she left, I gathered up the remnants - women's clothing. I took the whole mess back to Justin, and he confirmed it was Iris's own clothes."

After the judge quieted the buzzing courtroom, Nate asked, "What conclusion did you draw from that?"

"We figured she'd worn those clothes the night she set the orphanage fire, and she thought they might somehow be incriminating. Maybe, that an item of clothing might have borne some indelible trace of the accelerant she'd used."

Nate nodded sagely. "A reasonable inference. Did anyone other than you and Brother Justin see the burned clothing, and hear him identify it as Iris's?"

"Yes." But from his expression, Dolan found the memory painful. "Rev. Norman Balthus, the old minister who'd raised Justin and Iris, had been living with them since he suffered a stroke. He was mute and paralyzed, but his mind was perfectly sound. He saw the clothing, and I'm sure he was convinced Iris had set the fire. But I've been told he's dead now."

"You said he was mute and paralyzed," Nate mused. "If he were still alive, would he have been capable of testifying? Could he have answered questions with a yes or no, maybe, by blinking his eyes, or by nodding or shaking his head?"

"Yes," Dolan replied, "definitely. In fact, he had some use of his right hand and arm - he might have been able to write."

With that, Nate turned to the judge and said, "Your Honor, I'd like to enter into evidence the coroner's report and other notarized statements concerning the death of Rev. Norman Balthus.

"Tragically, he was one of several people killed in the course of rioting in New Canaan several months ago.

"And by a strange coincidence, he died only a few days after the unsolved murder of another person who might have testified in this case - Eleanor McGill."

x

x

x

When the flap over that died down, Nate finally cut to the heart of the case. "Mr. Dolan. I don't have to tell you that the core issue here - the reason we're all here - is your handwritten, signed confession."

With downcast eyes, Dolan said, "You're right. I understand that."

He sounded vaguely distressed, as if his thoughtlessness had created a problem for other people.

"I'll let you explain it in your own words," Nate said kindly.

"All right." Dolan looked up, took a deep breath, and launched into his story.

"Like I said, I had assumed that if we had to face the fact that Iris had set the fire, we'd try to persuade her to confess, before the law closed in.

"But that wasn't what Justin had in mind. I was floored when he begged _me_ to confess.

"He said it wasn't just a matter of protecting the sister he loved. If that was it, he would have taken the rap for her. But his entire mission was at stake! Not only could he not sacrifice himself, take himself out of the picture - if his sister went down, his millions of followers would be disillusioned, the movement would crumble, all would be lost!"

By this point, the din in the courtroom had risen to such a crescendo that Dolan was almost shouting, to be heard over it. The judge signaled him to wait, and devoted the next five minutes to the restoration of order.

Then Nate asked, "Mr. Dolan, are you saying Brother Justin actually asked you to sacrifice your life, by confessing to a capital crime you hadn't committed?"

Dolan gave a vehement shake of his head. "No. He assured me that if I made things easy for the authorities by coming forward, when there'd been no evidence against me, I wouldn't face the death penalty. And he'd be urging mercy. So I'd get off as lightly as anyone could, in a case with multiple deaths."

"But 'lightly' would have meant life in prison."

Dolan nodded, conceding the point. "Yes. Probably."

Nate said gently, "Mr. Dolan, you told us at one point that you'd 'imagined' you were falling in love with Iris Crowe. Were you in love with her when you wrote that false confession?"

Dolan slumped, appearing to ponder the question. "I...I'm not sure." But then he straightened, and said more firmly, "No, I don't think so. It wasn't romantic love. But I still respected her, and cared for her. I believed she'd set the fire, not because she was 'evil,' but because her passion for Justin's work had crossed the line into mental illness.

"And as a reporter, I've seen how the mentally ill are treated in our hospitals and prisons. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy."

Nate asked carefully, "So was that the reason you agreed to make the false confession?"

After a few moments' thought, Dolan responded, "There were three reasons.

"First, Justin's talking so much about how readily _he_ would have done it, if he could, made it seem like a natural thing. Not unreasonable. He was the only person I was talking to at the time - it was as if we were in our own little world.

"Second...yes, I wanted to protect Iris because I believed she was mentally ill. I knew either Justin or I could endure the hell that would follow a confession, but Iris would be shattered.

"And finally...finally...

"This is why, later, I found it hard to explain the confession to people like my friend Walt Ellison, an old newshound...

"I had a sense that in a way, what I _represent - _the power of modern communications - really _had_ caused the crime.

"Iris had never heard of me, as an individual, when she set that fire. But she set it in the hope, the near-certainty, that someone _like_ me would pick up the story and run with it, portraying the victims as martyrs and her brother as a wronged hero.

"And I gave her exactly what she'd wanted. Maybe, gave encouragement to the _next_ fanatic who wants publicity..." His voice trailed off.

The courtroom seemed mesmerized.

At last, Nate cleared his throat and said, "All right. Since Miss Crowe witnessed your confession, I assume she was aware of all this. Did she, like her brother, urge you to sign it?"

Dolan shook his head. "We - Justin and I - hadn't said anything to her about our belief that she was mentally ill. She was present when I wrote and signed the confession, but she never spoke to me, never looked at me. She seemed...humiliated. Crushed."

Nate found himself saying, "That's...understandable."

_My God. I knew everything he meant to say, but I'm still reacting like a person - a stunned person! - hearing it for the first time_.

"So now," he hurried on, "we know why you made the false confession. Why did you later retract it?"

Dolan managed a wry smile. "You're being polite. Do you mean, why did I 'panic,' and behave like a 'coward,' in front of hundreds of people?"

"No, I wouldn't put it that way." Nate was smiling too. "In fact, the one thing I know you're _not_ is a 'coward.' "

"Thank you." Dolan inclined his head in a gracious nod. Then he said softly, "You'll remember my saying Justin was the only person I'd been talking to...

"When it was just him and me - and later, Iris - knowing what I meant to do, it all seemed perfectly reasonable. Like I said before, we were in our own little world.

"But then" - his voice gradually rose - "I found myself reading the confession in front of a crowd. And suddenly, I was overwhelmed by the enormity of what we were doing - the magnitude of the lie! Whatever my thoughts about the power of radio, I had not actually set that fire. But we were claiming I had..."

He shook his head, eyes closed, as if in disbelief. "Justin's followers trusted him, totally. And we were about to betray that trust by telling a monstrous _lie_, not just to the hundreds in the tent, but to a radio audience that may have numbered in the millions!"

Opening his eyes, he leaned forward in the witness chair, as if struggling to communicate with every individual in the courtroom. "I can tell you this. I wasn't simply afraid the crowd would attack me and tear me limb from limb. If I'd been making the sacrifice on my own initiative - to protect either Iris, or the movement that meant so much to so many people - _and Justin had believed I'd really set the fire - _I would have gone through with it.

"But it wasn't just Tommy Dolan who'd been prepared to lie to those millions of people. It was _Justin_, the shepherd of the flock!

"All my doubts came surging up. What sort of 'shepherd' was he, anyway?

"Of one thing, I was sure. His lying to those millions, betraying their trust, would undermine the very foundation of the movement. Kill its soul.

"So in the end, _I_ at least spoke the truth."

The courtroom was so still that Nate could hear his heart beating.

He couldn't resist a final, theatrical flourish. "I'm sure you realize, Mr. Dolan, that either you or Brother Justin has committed perjury."

He saw a flicker of something like amusement in Dolan's eyes. But then the defendant said mildly, "Yes. I'm afraid Justin has done exactly that."

x

x

x

Throughout Robinson's attempt at cross-examination, the crowd in the courtroom booed his every challenge of the defendant. The facial expressions of the jurors told Nate they too sympathized with Dolan. And Dolan himself was poised, dignified - and completely unshakable in his testimony.

The prosecution had known he'd claim that Iris Crowe had set the fire, and he'd agreed to make a false confession to protect her, then changed his mind. Stated in those bald terms, it sounded ridiculous. Nothing had prepared them for the _manner_ in which those claims would be made, the impact of Dolan's presentation.

When defendant and counsel were finally reunited at the defense table, Nate said quietly, "I think we scored a touchdown. Are you sure you still want to go for the point after?"

Dolan replied, "The touchdown tied the game. The point after wins the game...and the championship."

So Nate politely asked the judge for a recess...until the next day, when he planned to call three more witnesses.

He'd never before seen a jaw visibly drop. But the judge's did.

"You're calling more witnesses? After the defendant?"

"Yes, Your Honor. The case boils down to whether the jury believes the defendant or Brother Justin, and these witnesses will present evidence pertaining to their respective credibility."

The judge granted the recess. But as the courtroom began clearing, Brandon Robinson's mouth _still_ hung open.


	5. Credibility

Nate had lined up more character witnesses, and other vaguely described witnesses, than he needed. Most of them were individuals who'd interacted with Tommy Dolan, in one way or another, during his career in broadcasting. Nate had explained that they might or might not be called upon to testify, depending on how the trial seemed to be going. So Robinson hadn't thought it strange that not all the names on the witness list had been accounted for by the time Dolan testified.

The plan had worked perfectly. Nate knew his opponent was practically tearing his hair out, trying to understand how a middle-aged baker's wife from L.A., a grandmother from faraway Dallas, and a corporate executive from Fresno could be vital to the case.

He was about to find out.

x

x

x

Nate's first witness was Jane Bryant, the L.A. housewife.

"Good morning, Mrs. Bryant," he greeted her. "Do I understand correctly that you once lived in Stockton?"

The jurors, all from the Sacramento area, didn't have to be told Stockton was also in Northern California.

"Yes, sir. I lived there as a little girl, when my name was Jenny Saunders."

Nate glanced at Robinson, and saw that he was - not surprisingly - just as confused by that combination of name and location. He went on to ask, "Can you tell the court exactly where you lived?"

The witness nodded. "Of course. I lived in the Guardian Angel Home, an orphanage run by the Methodist Church. I was there for three years, till my older sister was married and settled and was able to take me in."

"Do you remember the name of the administrator of that orphanage?"

"Yes, certainly!" She smiled at the memory. "Rose Balthus. She was a wonderful woman, young herself at the time. We children called her Mama Rose."

"And do you remember her husband?"

"Yes. He was a young minister, Norman Balthus. Both of them loved children, and did their best to make the orphanage seem like a real home."

"I'm glad they did," Nate said kindly. "Do you remember two other children who were there at the time, Iris and Justin Crowe?"

"Yes." Mrs. Bryant was no longer smiling. "Iris and I were the same age, and we were best friends. Justin was her little brother."

"Do you know where they are today?" he asked.

She looked down, twisting her hands in her lap. After a moment's hesitation, she said softly, "I hope - no, I _believe - _they're in heaven."

There was a chorus of gasps.

Nate asked smoothly, "Do I understand you to mean, Mrs. Bryant, that Iris and Justin Crowe are dead?"

She nodded. "Yes. They both died in the orphanage, of diphtheria."

There was bedlam in the courtroom, with some female spectators literally shrieking.

After the judge had restored a measure of order, Nate continued. "Mrs. Bryant. I assume you're aware that a famous preacher is using the name Justin Crowe?"

She sniffed. "Of course. But that man is _not_ Justin Crowe."

Nate loved what was going to come next. "Can you be absolutely sure of that, Mrs. Bryant? Isn't it possible that after all these years, you've forgotten which children in the orphanage died of diphtheria, and Brother Justin really is the child you knew?"

"No," she said flatly. "That isn't possible...because Iris and Justin Crowe were _colored_."

This revelation led to more outbursts in the courtroom. Nate rethought his enjoyment of the situation when the terrified witness broke down in tears. But the judge restored order, of a sort; and he elicited the further information that the "original" Iris and Justin had died in 1896, when they were, respectively, eight and two years old.

"If they were alive today," he told the jury, "they'd be the same ages as the white sister and brother using those names. Hardly a coincidence."

Mrs. Bryant was provided with a police escort when she left the courthouse.

x

x

x

The next witness was a decidedly wary elderly woman, Mattie Barnes. She testified that she currently lived with her daughter in Dallas; but she'd lived in Stockton for a few years at the turn of the century, and had been active in the Methodist Church.

"Were you acquainted with Rev. Norman Balthus and his wife Rose?" Nate asked.

She nodded. "Yes. Rev. Balthus was my pastor."

"Did you also know of two children, named Iris and Justin Crowe?"

"Yes," she acknowledged.

"White children?"

Her eyebrows shot up. "Yes, of course they were white!" She was undoubtedly picturing the adult Brother Justin, whose fame had spread to Texas and beyond. "I remember that they were in the orphanage, very briefly. But then Norman and Rose took them into their home."

"Do you know _why_ Norman and Rose did that?"

"Y-yes," she said slowly. "I never really understood it, and I didn't want to pry, but...they needed special attention. There was a language problem. The children were Russian! Iris had an accent that was hard to understand, and little Justin couldn't speak English at all."

Predictably, there was another near-riot in the courtroom.

When it had quieted down, Nate asked, "Did you ever hear an explanation of Russian children's having such non-Russian names?"

"No. I don't think any of the Balthuses' friends knew what their story was. Some of us were curious, but we thought it would be impolite to ask."

"Just one more question, Mrs. Barnes. Do you remember in what year those children came to the orphanage?"

"Yes. It was 1900."

x

x

x

Nate's final witness was Hubert Gantley, an executive with the Union Pacific Railroad. He testified that according to the company's records, there'd been a train wreck in 1900, not far from Stockton. A bridge collapse had sent the train plunging into a river, and while there were no known survivors, not all the bodies had been recovered.

Nate asked, "Is it known whether there were any Russian nationals aboard that train, Mr. Gantley?"

Gantley nodded. "Yes, there were several."

"Any children, or parents of children?"

"Yes. One of the bodies recovered was that of a Russian woman, Plemina Belyakova. It was established that she'd been traveling with her two children - daughter Irina, age twelve, and son Alexei, age six. The children's bodies were _not_ recovered."

"One more question, Mr. Gantley. Just to be clear - none of the family were U.S. citizens?"

"No, sir, they were not."

The ruckus that followed necessitated closing arguments' being postponed till the next day.

x

x

x

In discovery, Nate had described those witnesses as having information that would address the Crowes' trustworthiness. He'd stated that the two women had known Iris and Justin as children, while Gantley was prepared to describe a long-ago accident. (Several other "childhood acquaintance" witnesses - whom the prosecution could have located with less effort, but he'd never really planned to call - could have testified only to their having "instinctively distrusted" Iris and Justin. In truth, they'd probably been resentful because the Balthuses had informally adopted the Crowe siblings, while leaving them in the orphanage. They hadn't mentioned the Crowes' having language problems or accents, so they must have had very little contact with them.)

Robinson could have pressed for more details. But if he gave the key witnesses any thought at all, he'd probably assumed their testimony would involve nothing worse than childhood mischief, and some minor accident. Events so trivial that if Nate sought to make an issue of them, he'd be laughed out of court.

The prosecutor had undoubtedly made a last-minute attempt at a real investigation. But he hadn't had time to uncover the truth.

Not that uncovering it would have done him any good.

x

x

x

Nate was glad there'd be a delay. Come morning, Crowe's response to the allegations would be in print and on the air.

The jury wasn't sequestered; despite the intense interest in the trial, no one had expected surprise revelations and newsworthy reactions. The jurors had been instructed not to read or listen to any news coverage. But they were only human. And Nate guessed that though they'd never admit it, they'd show up in court having read and heard as much as he had.

So the morning news would be important. It would enable him to tweak his closing argument, and respond - indirectly, of course! - to whatever Crowe or his spokesman had said.

x

x

x

He'd given up trying to keep Sally at a distance. Thanks to Ellison, he had two bodyguards for the duration of the trial; they'd move quickly to protect anyone with him.

But Dolan's testimony had clearly swayed public opinion in his favor. His explanation of the "confession" had been printed in full; and KZAK had somehow obtained an audio recording, which they played at the top of every hour.

Outside the courtroom, Nate was now being mobbed by admirers. Ridiculous as it seemed, newspaper and radio accounts of the trial had begun mentioning that both defendant and defense counsel were good-looking bachelors.

Sally was staying in the same hotel as Nate. So by prearrangement, she came to his room at 7:00 a.m. with a sheaf of newspapers she'd picked up in the lobby. She'd also brought coffee and rolls, for them and for the guards stationed outside his door.

Nate was slightly embarrassed at receiving her in a room whose furnishings included, necessarily, a _bed_. But at least the bed was fully made up. And he was fully dressed, complete with vest and necktie.

Sally, he noticed, was dressed more like a secretary than a vacationer.

But she greeted him with an impromptu hug. "I can just imagine the state Crowe is in! Do you think Iris will dare to tell him all this came out because she got tipsy, and told Tommy that strange little story about the two Russian children who survived a train wreck?" Iris had committed that indiscretion before Justin returned from his wanderings. She hadn't admitted the children were her brother and herself; she'd tried to say the story had been a sort of parable. But when she went on to recite a Russian "saying," the keen-witted Dolan knew it was personal. Later, his telling Nate that much had enabled Nate to ferret out the whole truth.

Nate snickered. "Iris may not even remember."

They eagerly perused the papers, and checked the radio as well. At last, Nate leaned back contentedly in his chair and said, "Terrific."

They'd known on the previous day that Crowe was sticking with his testimony about the investigation and Dolan's confession. He claimed - as the defense had expected - that everything Dolan had said on the stand was a lie.

What was new was his response to Nate's revelations about his and Iris's past. Through a spokesman, he said he was "stunned" - he'd never known or suspected _any_ of this. He'd evidently been so traumatized by the train wreck that he'd repressed his memories of his entire early childhood, including his having been unable to speak English at the age of six. He'd genuinely believed he was a native-born American citizen named Justin Crowe.

Iris, of course, had known differently. She'd kept silent till now to protect him. But according to Crowe's spokesman, she'd innocently believed that the Balthuses had somehow "fixed" everything - that she and Justin had been made citizens and given American-sounding names that were perfectly legal, not the stolen identities of dead children.

Sally asked, "Should they have said something else?"

Nate nodded. "This crap won't wash. Crowe's trying to hang onto his following. But many of the people who've bought what he's been selling will reject him now that they know he's a 'foreigner,' whether or not he knew all along.

"Since he's going to lose them anyway, it would have been wiser to acknowledge that he's known the truth for most of his life - claim he kept silent to protect the Balthuses, and even after both of them were dead, to protect Iris. If he played it well, that approach might have won him a lot of sympathy.

"In fact, if he'd done that, Robinson might have petitioned the court to let him reopen the prosecution case. He could have put Crowe back on the stand, and given him a chance to tell his sob story directly to the jury. That was the biggest risk we were taking."

"Hmm. Yes, I see. You're right. But thinking of sympathy..."

He sat up straight, and looked sharply at her. "Yes?"

"Your closing argument?" She had, of course, read the draft. "I think _you_ should show more sympathy for the plight they were in _as children - _and for the Balthuses, as well. Some of the jurors are likely to be more softhearted than you and Tommy."

Nate thought that over for a minute, then gave an abrupt nod. "Okay, I'll make some changes. I trust your instincts."

_It's harder for me to be "softhearted."_

_You - and the jury - don't know everything I suspect about Justin Crowe._

_Even __**Tommy**__ doesn't know everything I suspect about Justin Crowe.._.

One suspicion, at least, could be put to a test.

"Sally? I know you've heard some of Brother Justin's, uh, sermons." He'd been tempted to say _diatribes_. "Did you pick up some insinuations about Jews?"

She shot him a withering look. "Mr. Stern. Are you forgetting my name is Sarah Feldman? _Of course_ I know Justin Crowe - sorry, Alexei Belyakov - is an anti-Semite! It's as plain as - well, as the very _Semitic_ nose on your face."

He managed a sheepish grin. "All right. Then I wasn't imagining it."

Suddenly, he heard himself saying, "All this business about names...do you think that someday, you might be willing to exchange 'Sarah Feldman' for something else? Like 'Sarah Stern'?"

_God Almighty. She'll think I'm an idiot. We've never had a date! Never kissed -_

But all at once, that omission was being rectified. And while her lips were much too busy to permit speech, he knew, with a thrill of delight, that the answer to his crazy proposal was _Yes_.

x

x

x

Robinson's closing argument was predictable. He insisted that the defense was trying to cloud the issue with "smoke and mirrors." All that should matter, he told the jury, was that they had a _confession_, which Tommy Dolan admitted having written and signed.

Nate revisited all the themes with which he'd opened. The defense had made a strong case for the unlikelihood of Dolan's having known about Brother Justin's problems before the date of the fire. His meeting with Justin "on the road" couldn't be satisfactorily reconciled with his being the arsonist. Such evidence as there was in the case, aside from the confession, pointed to Iris Crowe. Dolan had given plausible explanations for his having made a false confession, and for having retracted it.

But fully half the closing argument dealt with the revelations about the Crowes. "Arguably," Nate told the jury, "Brother Justin and his sister committed perjury when, under oath, they gave false names_._ How can anything else they said be trusted?"

As Sally had suggested, he expressed sympathy for the plight of two frightened Russian children, and the minister and his wife who'd sought to help them stay in the U.S.

"But while the Balthuses meant well," he continued, "they made poor decisions.

"Given that - suppose the whole family had come forward later. Say, when the younger child, Justin, became a legal adult, so there'd be no problem with Russian kin claiming custody. The situation almost certainly could have been remedied, brother and sister set on the path to become naturalized U.S. citizens, with no legal penalties for anyone.

"But that brother and sister apparently felt some need to keep their foreign birth to themselves, like a secret shame. So they chose to continue the deception."

Now he let indignation creep into his voice...and rise with every syllable.

"To go on using the stolen identities of dead children, dead _American_ children.

"To vote, fraudulently, in _our_ elections.

"And on top of that, Justin became a charismatic preacher - who's used his influence over his followers to deliver _**their**_ votes to candidates of his choice.

"Even before the issue of responsibility for the fire arose, this was a 'man of God' living a lie, a 'shepherd' leading his flock astray!"

He gave his listeners a few seconds to ponder those offenses. Then he said harshly, "It's inconceivable that Brother Justin didn't know the truth. I ask the jury, how likely is it that a person who spoke only Russian at the age of six would believe that _both he and his six-years-older sister_ were born in this country?"

Calm and reasonable now. Deceptively calm and reasonable, with just a hint of sarcasm.

"But let's give him the benefit of the doubt, and imagine he was so traumatized by the train wreck that he went into denial about his entire early childhood, and in later years, didn't remember that he'd been unable to speak English at age six.

"It would, of course, have taken him _several years_ to become fluent in English and eliminate all trace of a foreign accent...but let's suppose he was able to 'forget' all that.

"He still would have learned the truth as he matured.

"If Iris had married at eighteen and moved a thousand miles away, it might be plausible that she'd never told her younger brother what she knew. But by her own testimony, they've always been extremely close. They live in the same household; she considers herself his 'closest aide.' _If she knew a secret that would, if it somehow came to light, embarrass him, she surely would have wanted him to be prepared_.

"Also, the Balthuses had no children of their own, and they actually raised Justin and his sister - didn't leave them in the orphanage. Justin must have wondered why they'd been the ones selected for informal adoption, _and_ why foster parents willing to go that far didn't legally adopt them and give them their family name. That would have suggested that there was some irregularity, some reason why the Balthuses didn't want the authorities taking a close look at their situation.

"There's yet another factor to be considered: there must have been occasions when he needed a birth certificate. In the unlikely event that he'd never needed one before, he would have needed it a few months ago, to obtain a marriage license.

"The Balthuses had undoubtedly kept copies of the original Crowe children's birth certificates. So Justin would have had easy access to the document he needed - probably filed with church baptismal records.

"The short-form transcript given natives of San Joaquin County for purposes of identification doesn't mention race - that's why use of the stolen identities was feasible. But it would have named his deceased parents as Elijah and Bessie Crowe. Can anyone believe that when he knew his supposed parents' names, he wouldn't have been curious enough to do the _hour's worth_ of research that would have told him Elijah and Bessie Crowe were colored? And can anyone believe that if he'd learned that much, he wouldn't have pried the whole truth out of the Balthuses - if they were still alive at the time - or his sister?"

The jurors' expressions told him he'd made his point.

So he proceeded, quietly and solemnly, to his final appeal.

"In the end, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, it's up to you. The defendant's life is in your hands.

"The resolution of this case comes down to a simple choice. Whose testimony do you believe?

"Tommy Dolan's? Or that of a man who lied to you, and to radio audiences numbering in the millions, about his very _name_?

"I'll remind you of that name. The man in question is _an illegal Russian immigrant, Alexei Belyakov_."

x

x

x

Tommy Dolan had been imprisoned for more than a year, awaiting trial.

The jury needed less than three hours to find him not guilty.


	6. Epilogue

The headline screamed _**Will Brother Justin Be Deported?**_

"Fourth day in a row the headlines have been about him," Nate mock-complained. "Barely a mention of your acquittal and my legal brilliance."

"But they're the best kind of headlines about him," Dolan said happily. "I don't suppose there's any chance the Crowes could really be deported? Or either of them sent to prison?"

Nate shook his head. "No. But we always knew that. There isn't enough evidence to indict Iris for setting the fire, or Justin for committing perjury. A jury's believing you over him doesn't constitute proof. And they won't be kicked out of the country, not after having lived here since they were children. The courts will conclude that it is possible, if improbable, that Justin didn't know about their past, and Iris was so naive that she didn't realize laws were being broken.

"But still, they've taken a major hit. Well-read citizens, who followed the trial closely, believe the worst about them. Many of the less-educated - Justin's core following - have turned against him because he's not a 'true American,' or because they feel he deceived them.

"And, human nature being what it is, dozens of people are coming out of the woodwork to say - truthfully or not - that they've heard them either lapse into Russian, or slip up and address each other as 'Alexei' and 'Irina.' Next thing you know, someone will be suggesting they're Bolshevik spies."

He swept the paper into the wastebasket - to make room on his desk for his feet. "It's the best outcome we could have hoped for."

The men were back in L.A., relaxing in Nate's office. Sally was at her own desk, fielding phone calls and setting up appointments for prospective clients. _Many_ prospective clients. Nate had joked that L.A. must be having a crime wave. And he was the lawyer of choice, for everything from burglary to gangland killings.

It occurred to him that Dolan had actually made a formal appointment. "Say, what can I do for you? Have you gone and committed another crime already?"

"No, it'll take me a week or so to get around to that." But then Dolan turned serious. "I just wanted a block of private time with you, so I can keep my promise."

Nate drew a blank. "What promise?"

Dolan looked him in the eye and said steadily, "I told you I'd explain what I meant about not being 'innocent,' remember? I think you should know everything."

x

x

x

Nate was suddenly uneasy. He swung his legs down off the desk. "I-I thought that was made clear in the trial. What you said about believing 'the power of modern communications' played a part in causing the crime..."

"Uh, no."

Nate didn't like what he saw in Dolan's eyes. That faint amusement, again.

Dolan glanced toward the door, to make sure it was closed. "We still have attorney-client privilege, right? This has to be kept confidential. Please...don't even tell Sally."

"Yes, everything you say will be privileged information. And I won't tell Sally." He knew she could be trusted with anything - he'd trust her with his life. But Dolan couldn't be faulted for not knowing her as well as he did.

"You're not going to like this," Dolan said slowly. "But I guess I should begin by just spitting it out. Justin wasn't the only witness who committed perjury."

Nate didn't bat an eye.

He just said, "Shit."

He was serious about providing the best possible defense, _within the law_. He never countenanced perjury, if he knew about it in advance. He dealt with guilty clients by keeping them off the stand, and building a "reasonable doubt" defense that relied on witnesses who weren't committing perjury.

But he often suspected his clients were lying under oath. And more than one had admitted it, after the fact.

The problem was, he'd been sure Tommy Dolan was sincere. Now he felt as if his legs had been cut out from under him.

Dolan was saying, "I think I should tell you first about the minor perjury."

Nate wanted to scream _There is no "minor" perjury!_

But all he said, dully, was, "All right."

"I lied about my reaction when Iris gave me the brush-off - about being so understanding. Here's the truth. I realized what the problem was when I saw her with Justin. She was in love with him!"

Nate snapped to attention. "Wh-what? In love with her brother?"

"Yes." Dolan's expression was hard, angry. "He had an incestuous interest in her, too.

"I'm not saying they were actually doing anything. I don't think they were. They were just caught up in lusting for each other.

"But that really pissed me off. That she'd choose a fantasy, about a man she couldn't have, over the real thing with me.

"So from then on, I despised her. I started competing with her, trying to make myself Justin's chief lieutenant, just to spite her.

"When I was investigating the fire, I hoped she'd turn out to be guilty. I was sorry California doesn't hang women!"

Nate felt sick.

He said weakly, "That means...part of your explanation of the 'confession' was a lie, too?"

There was no anger in Dolan's eyes now, only regret. "I'm sorry, Nate. _Everything_ I said about the 'confession' was hogwash. That was the major perjury."

Nate closed his eyes, and muttered a few things more colorful than "Shit."

Then he had a sudden thought, and his eyes flew open. "Wait a minute. When we first met, you swore you hadn't set the fire -"

"And I _didn't_," Dolan said forcefully. "Didn't set the fire, didn't commit any murders."

"So why the 'confession,' and the lying explanation?" Nate was becoming more confused and frustrated by the moment. "There must be a true explanation. What is it?"

Dolan sighed. "First, I should admit that what I called the minor perjury - pretending I'd been concerned for Iris - was just a ploy to score points with the jurors. I could have come up with a story that didn't include that.

"But I lied about the 'confession' because I _had to_. No one would have believed the truth. They would have thought I was either insane, or a killer trying to fake insanity.

"To understand what really happened, you have to know this." Eyes locked on Nate's, he said, slowly and clearly, _"Justin Crowe possesses supernatural powers."_

Nate stared at him for a full minute. Then he said, "That's a crock. No one possesses 'supernatural powers'! I don't even believe, literally, in the miracles attributed to Moses."

Dolan shrugged. "Neither do I - or the ones attributed to Jesus. Stories about old-time holy men grew over the years, became exaggerated.

"But Justin Crowe exists in the here and now. He may call himself a minister, but he's no holy man - he's evil. And I know he possesses supernatural powers because he used them on _me_."

Nate thought he saw utter sincerity in Dolan's dark eyes. _But I thought that before, too_. He heard himself saying, "I sensed all along that you cared more about publicly discrediting him than about clearing your name, or even surviving..."

Dolan nodded. "Yes. I thought Justin and I were allies, and he betrayed me. I'm not the forgiving sort."

Nate couldn't shake the feeling that the man was really leveling with him this time...and was completely sane. "Tell me what happened."

"We'd exposed Iris," Dolan said steadily, "and it was supposedly agreed that she'd own up to the crime. She made an oral confession to Justin and me, and I wrote it down - taking dictation, like a court stenographer. It was _her_ confession, nothing in it about advancing anyone's career! I saw her sign it.

"We agreed that I, as spokesman for the movement, would read it aloud to a gathering in the tent - and the large radio audience - because Iris wasn't emotionally able to do it herself. The identity of the arsonist would be revealed at the end, when I read the signature.

"But when I actually was reading the damn thing aloud, I blundered into saying words that were on the page, that I had no memory of having written - words that amounted to an admission _I_ had set the fire! Naturally, I panicked. When the police grabbed me, I turned desperately to the end of the document, trying to show them Iris's signature.

"But the signature was mine."

Nate looked into Dolan's now-icy eyes, and couldn't suppress a shudder. "So you think -"

"I _know_ Justin either compelled me to write things I didn't intend, and also tampered with my memory, or he magically changed what was on the page. Either way, he was using powers no normal man possesses."

Nate remembered the half-serious thought he'd had when he first discussed the case with Ellison. "Hypnosis. He used hypnosis to make you write what he wanted, not 'supernatural powers'!"

But Dolan shook his head. "Years ago, I let professional hypnotists try to hypnotize me - for the fun of it, and to report on the experience. Three different ones tried and failed. They told me I can't be hypnotized. And I hadn't been resisting. I wanted it to work.

"Besides, after what Justin did to me, I remembered other things. Twice - the first time, before I knew him - he wanted property, and somehow got the owners to donate it to him, when their donating land to anyone was completely out of character. That first man killed himself the very next night.

"I suppose Justin could have hypnotized him, or blackmailed him. But he never met the second man, only spoke to him on the phone, immediately after learning who owned the property. He hadn't had time to learn anything - in a normal way - that might have made the man vulnerable to blackmail.

"And about the supernatural powers, in general? There was something else, a strangeness associated with Justin that many people noticed. When he delivered sermons on Kay-Zack, we'd find that we were broadcasting with increased power, being heard at greater distances. It gave us the creeps, till we somehow got used to it.

"When I think about it now, the idea that the staff of a radio station _could_ 'get used to' such a thing seems unnatural in itself."

Nate couldn't come up with another suggestion.

Dolan said quietly, "But I still haven't explained the importance of my not being 'innocent.'

"I lied when I said I never suspected Justin of having set the fire. When I heard about the car, he was the first person I suspected, not Iris.

"And that was a problem for me. Iris as the culprit, I could take - if she'd been able to deceive Justin for months, it would be understandable that I hadn't seen through her, either.

"But _Justin_ as the culprit? I was the one who'd gotten the public to believe in him! It would have reflected badly on my judgment, maybe destroyed my career.

"So I resolved that _if he was the arsonist, I'd help him cover it up_. I hadn't thought it through - I don't know whether I would have gone along with framing someone else. But I was willing to help cover up a crime. And my motive was completely selfish.

"I never told Justin that. But I didn't have to. I saw in his eyes that _he knew_.

"I can't explain why I'm sure of this, Nate, but I am. My having made that morally wrong choice - okay, I'll use the hokey word 'sin'! My having committed that sin gave Justin power over me. That was the reason he was able to twist the confession, and turn it against me."

After a long silence, Nate asked, "Why are you telling me this?" _I wish you hadn't_.

"I don't know." But then Dolan continued, "I was afraid to tell you before or during the trial, Nate, because I thought you'd walk out on me. And I believe you really are the best lawyer in the country. There was a case to be made here. But no one but you would have had the dedication, and the know-how, to find all those witnesses and put it together.

"I guess I'm telling you now because you have a right to know how dangerous a man we've been dealing with.

"But I don't think you're in any danger. It's only sin - sin that he can sense - that enables Justin to control another person, and in the process, possibly destroy him."

Nate said slowly, "Tommy - there's something I've been keeping to myself, too.

"Something you should know."

x

x

x

"This may just be the ravings of a crank," he stressed. "But it has preyed on my mind. And taken in combination with what you've experienced...

"Well, here goes.

"After I agreed to take you on as a client, I was swamped with letters and phone calls. Most of them saying I should be lynched! But not all.

"There was one caller - only one - who wanted to give me the same helpful tip I'd already gotten from you. That Justin and Iris were Russian children who'd survived a train wreck, and they'd probably never become U.S. citizens."

Dolan frowned. "One of the Crowes slipped up with someone else? I'm surprised they'd be that careless."

Nate shook his head. "No. The man who called me had undoubtedly gotten his information from another source.

"I didn't tell him I already knew - just let him talk. And he knew more than you did, the Crowes' real names. He said he'd met their father, but the father was dead now, so there'd be no point in my looking for him.

"He gave me information about their father, that he said I could check out. Said the father's name was Lucius Belyakov, and he'd served in the Russian military during the World War, till he was seriously injured. Not wounded in action - mauled by, of all things, a trained bear that had escaped from a carnival."

"Good grief," Dolan muttered. "_Did_ you check it out?"

"Yep. All true. But the Russians lost track of Lucius Belyakov after the war. No one over there knows what became of him."

Dolan asked the obvious question. "Any chance your caller really was Belyakov?"

"No." Nate was sure of that. "The voice was almost certainly American - and young. Besides, the idea of his being the Crowes' father wouldn't jibe with other things he went on to tell me.

"I asked him his name, of course. He wouldn't give me his full name, but he said, 'You can call me Ben.' Does that mean anything to you? An enemy of Crowe's, named Ben?"

Dolan thought for a few seconds, but had to say, "No, it doesn't ring a bell. What else did he tell you?"

Nate swallowed hard. "This is where it gets...disturbing. This Ben said he wanted, not only to give me a tip, but to warn me about who we were dealing with.

"He never mentioned supernatural powers. But he said Justin Crowe had murdered his father! Not Crowe's father, Ben's father.

"He said that after that, he tangled with Crowe, and they 'did some violence to each other.' He told me that's the real reason Crowe is 'unwell.' And he, Ben, isn't in great shape, either."

Dolan had gone pale. "Hell. I've suspected Justin somehow caused that landowner's suicide...and he was willing to kill me, indirectly, by sending me to the gallows for a crime I didn't commit. But for some reason, I've never thought him capable of physical violence.

"Him or Iris, beyond the one incident of the fire. I never believed either of them was really to blame for Eleanor McGill's death, let alone Norman Balthus's."

Nate cleared his throat. "This gets, in a way, worse. Ben said he hadn't seen Crowe kill his father, though he was sure he did it. But he personally saw him murder Norman Balthus!"

"Murder...Norman Balthus?" Dolan echoed. "A minister...old enough to be his father...who'd been _like_ a father to him?"

"And who probably hadn't given him power over him by 'sinning.' But, remember..." Finally saying all this aloud, Nate realized his voice was shaky. "Remember, I have no proof it's true. The only reason I ever gave this Ben any credence is that his story about the Russian background checked out.

"I believed Crowe was misusing his power as a preacher. And since I didn't have any doubts about your story, I _knew_ he was willing to go to appalling lengths to make someone else pay for a crime his sister had committed. But I'd seen no evidence of other criminal behavior.

"If, as you're saying, he's actually some kind of _evil supernatural being_...

"Tommy, if what Ben told me is true, Crowe's capable of extreme physical violence. Probably against anyone. He said Crowe beheaded his father, with some kind of scythe. A gardening tool. And he used the same weapon to disembowel Rev. Balthus, with one stroke!"

The men sat, staring at each other, speechless.

Until it gradually dawned on Nate that the phone was ringing in the outer office. He'd heard quite a few rings, and it hadn't been answered.

"Huh. Sally must have stepped out to use the bathroom. But she usually tells me -"

What he saw in Dolan's eyes must have mirrored his own.

As one, they leapt to their feet and raced for the door.

As they burst into the outer office, the phone stopped ringing. But not because it had been answered.

And then Nate began to scream.

x

x

x

The next thing he knew, he was huddled on the floor, cradling Sally in his arms. He wasn't sure why they were on the floor...

But then he heard Tommy Dolan's voice, and realized Dolan was on the phone.

"I need to report a murder...yes, a _murder_.

"This is Tommy Dolan...yes, _**the**_ Tommy Dolan! I'm in Nathan Stern's law office. While Nate and I were in his inner office with the door closed, his secretary, Sarah Feldman, was murdered...

"Yes, I'm sure she's dead...

"I think Nate's in shock...

"No, there's no blood. I think the girl has a broken neck."

Clutching her tightly, Nate had the inane thought _At least she wasn't hacked to death with a gardening tool_.

After giving the police a few more details, Dolan hung up.

And then he immediately dialed again - to phone in the scoop to KZAK.

x

x

x

The End


End file.
